


Consolation

by myshkins



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cute, Family Fluff, Gen, this is just ridiculously cute and i'm not at all sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myshkins/pseuds/myshkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan and Gyda get to know each other. Set in a universe where Ragnar is earl but the whole almost-sacrificed thing never happens and the Lothbrok family is happy and nothing goes wrong for them ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation

It's one of those vibrant early spring days when nature seems to lure all its creatures out of hiding. The winter months had been cold, wet, and unforgiving, and the idea of lazing about in the warm sun is so alluring that Athelstan asks Lagertha if he might take the children to the river himself. 

"It's fine with me, as long as you're back before sundown. There will be a meeting to discuss the planting, and I want you and the children there," Lagertha replies, turning her head toward him just so as not to interfere with Siggy, who is nearly finished with the intricate plait of her mistress' hair. Athelstan's gaze lingers a moment on Siggy's nimble fingers at work, and he can't help but think back on the hours he and his brothers had spent bent over their manuscripts, forming each letter just so, painting each line with reverent precision. Almost instinctively, Athelstan thinks to himself that perhaps Siggy's service is no less humble and reverent. He frowns to himself then, shaking his head slightly and dismissively as though banishing such thoughts from his mind. Lagertha, who is used to this strange priest's wide-eyed fleeting agitations, smiles quietly to herself.

\--

The winding trek from Kattegat to the river serves to remove much of Athelstan's gloom. It seems to him that the further he walks, the lighter each step becomes. Bjorn jogs ahead, stopping at intervals to growl an irate "Keep up, priest!" Gyda walks at Athelstan's side, matching his easy pace. She is quiet, as always, but her glance betrays a penetrating watchfulness and curiosity that make Athelstan think that she perceives everything--even that which cannot be seen. Their eyes meet as they walk along, and they both break into smiles, not quite sure what they're smiling about.

\--

The day has become hot, and finding a shady spot, Athelstan lies down on the cool grass, leaning his weight on the trunk of a linden tree. Bjorn immediately plunges into the water after undressing, only to cry out shrilly "Gods, it's cold!" and, without skipping a beat, he adds: "Come and swim with me, priest!"

"No, I'm looking out. It's better if I stay here," Athelstan replies calmly.

"Bah, you're afraid of the cold water...and getting undressed, probably," Bjorn laughs. Athelstan doesn't reply, but looks down at his lap with one of his long-suffering half-smiles. This time, Gyda cannot be silent.

"Don't be so unkind, Bjorn," Gyda scolds him in a clear firm voice. Both Bjorn and Athelstan look at her, the former with a kind of bemused astonishment and the latter with surprised thankfulness. 

"Fine, I'll leave him alone...I was just having fun," Bjorn grumbles and without further ado continues splashing his way upstream.

"Don't stray too far," Athelstan calls out. "The rocks are dangerous up there!"

Bjorn calls back something unintelligible, and Athelstan is glad he doesn't hear it. He lets his head rest back against the tree trunk and looks over at Gyda. She's sitting nearby, pulling up blades of grass with her fingers. Sensing that Athelstan is looking at her, she meets his gaze, and in that moment there is something of the shieldmaiden about her that Athelstan can't put his finger on.

"Thank you, Gyda," Athelstan murmurs after a moment. "I know you don't often stand up to your brother."

"I know the things he says hurt your feelings. You always look so sad," she replies, her eyes remaining steadily on him. Her genuine words and solemn sincerity of expression seem to catch on something inside him and stir up everything that lies broken there. He looks away for a moment, collecting himself, and eventually allows himself to smile.

"Well, you seem to be the only one to notice," he begins, and noticing Gyda's apologetic and knowing look, hurries to add:

"You needn't worry about me, really. Bjorn is harmless, if a little hot-headed. Your mother is kind, and..." he trails off, searching.

"...and your father means well, I think," he concludes. Gyda, apparently still not entirely convinced, keeps her inquisitive eyes on him.

"And are you happy?" she finally asks, and Athelstan is at a loss. Still a foreigner in a strange and terrifying world, still unsure whether or not he is a slave or a free man, and still questioning God, how could he be happy? But this world has undeniable beauty alongside its terror. A sudden thought occurs to him that if he could hold his own life in his hands and admire it like the patterns on a vase or the decorative swirls and lines put to the page with a careful hand, that this precise moment would be the most pleasing one to behold. In this moment, under the linden tree, on this spring day, how could he not be happy?

"I believe I will be," Athelstan breathes after a long silence, and Gyda, seeing his familiar melancholy smile, can't help but smile back, satisfied for the moment.

\--

It's hard for Athelstan to remember his native language, but the Latin chants he learned at the monastery are as though engraved on his memory. He sings one to himself now, head propped against the tree trunk, eyes closed, idly listening to the whispers of the water, rustlings of leaves, and chirping of birds. Bjorn had returned from upriver awhile ago, but he keeps himself at a distance, and having fashioned a makeshift spear out of a sturdy branch, focuses his complete attention on impaling one of the glistening silver perch that rush by. Gyda had wandered from the shade of the linden tree to watch him for a while, but she had soon become bored of Bjorn's unsuccessful attempts and sharp grunts and had begun to search for flowers. 

 

Consolator optime  
dulcis hospes animae  
dulce refrigerium...

 

The words begin to lose their meaning as Athelstan sings them over and over to himself. The pleasing sound and vibration takes precedence over each word, and sounds tumble sonorously out as freely and easily as water flows downstream toward the sea. 

Hearing a rustle by his side, Athelstan opens his eyes to find Gyda standing shyly nearby, her hands behind her back.

"What were you singing?"

"A chant...it's a kind of song all of the monks were taught at the monastery."

"Does the song tell a story?"

"Not exactly...it's more of a conversation." Gyda's face radiates curiosity, eyebrows coming together slightly, eyes bright. She is like her father in that way, Athelstan realizes.

"A conversation with whom?"

"With God. And with whoever is singing with you."

"Does God ever sing back?" she asks quickly, though without the patronizing tone Athelstan had come to expect. Such openness serves to loosen his tongue and put him at ease, and Athelstan feels lightness bubbling within him with an intensity that is foreign to him. 

"Yes, He does, although not in ways you would expect." He speaks animatedly, with large, luminous, and bright eyes, and Gyda listens without taking her eyes from his face. 

"You see, God speaks to people through everything, so that when I was singing and the birds were singing back to me, it was God singing to me Himself through them. This river itself is also God singing back to me..." Athelstan pauses thoughtfully. "Perhaps it sounds strange."

"No, I don't think so," Gyda replies earnestly. It occurs to Athelstan that he has never seen such an honest and open expression in the whole of his life, and that if he had confided these exact thoughts to Father Cuthbert, he would have been met with a curt and raspy "Cease this foolishness, Brother Athelstan, and get on with your copying."

They are quiet for a long while, each deep in their separate thoughts until Gyda reveals what she had been hiding behind her back: a crown of flowers, white and yellow. Gyda seats herself beside Athelstan, and timidly moving closer to him and raising the crown in her hands, indicates that its intended destination is the top of his head. With a self-conscious yet obliging smile, Athelstan dips his head forward, receiving the crown like a favor bestowed by a noblewoman. 

"Thank you, my lady," Athelstan says in a tone as grave as he can muster, which in contrast to the quizzical look on his face makes them both dissolve into laughter. 

"How lovely you look," Gyda giggles at him, her attempt at solemnity even more pitiful than Athelstan's, and they're both lost to their laughter again. When he has recovered, Athelstan glances up at the bright blue sky and its scarce clouds and thinks ecstatically, incredulously to himself: I am merry!

\--

They continue talking about mere nothings. Meanwhile, Bjorn has sprawled out upon a rock, sunning his pale skin, paying no heed to them whatsoever. 

Athelstan and Gyda's rambling discourse eventually comes to Siggy, and Athelstan remembers her kneeling form and deft hands that had fashioned a plait in Lagertha's hair that morning. Casting a glance at Gyda's long blond hair, Athelstan gets an idea.

"Gyda, do you know how to braid hair?"

"Yes, my mother taught me."

"Do you think you could teach me?" Athelstan asks, not quite sure where he's going with this, but he misses creating beautiful things with his hands, and if this is the easiest way to go about it, so be it.

Gyda pulls a strand of her own hair in front of her face to demonstrate separating the strands, weaving each one in and out. Athelstan follows Gyda's instruction with relative ease, and soon she is seated before him and with her back to him as he practices weaving the blond shining strands in and out in and out again and again. Her hair is soft and cooperates well. Every once in a while Athelstan makes a mistake, and with a soft "tsk" of frustration he gently separates the strands and begins again, starting near the root. 

"I'm not hurting you?" he asks at intervals, and a gentle "no" is the reply.

Before long Gyda's hair is covered in plaits and the sun is close to setting. Athelstan is proud of his handiwork, and it is his idea to pull strips of supple bark from the branches of a young tree to tie it all into a bundle at the base of Gyda's neck. Bjorn can only nod curtly and murmur a begrudging "not bad". Gyda beams. 

It's only once he has arrived back at Kattegat that Athelstan realizes Gyda's crown of flowers is still on his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly based on a lovely fan art of Athelstan wearing a flower crown that I saw around on Tumblr, but alas I can't remember who drew it (if it was you, tell me and I'll link to it!). 
> 
> But yeah basically I was really sad about the season finale so I wrote a happy Athelstan/Gyda thing to make myself feel better.
> 
> 1\. Athelstan's chant: from the Veni Sancte Spiritus, translates to "Greatest comforter, sweet guest of the soul, sweet consolation" (which incidentally is where I got the title from)


End file.
